


A New Story

by skyperson9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyperson9/pseuds/skyperson9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly decides to move away from London. But can you run away from true love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Sigh._

It had been a very long day, and all Molly wanted to do was to go and crash into her bed and not wake up at least for a day or two. If only the clock would tick faster. She glared at it and willed it to tick faster. Hard luck! She had been doing this for the past hour and yet there was still half an hour left.

_Sigh. Maybe she could just go early._

Honestly, she deserved it. Not only did she handle twelve postmortem alone (a terrible highway accident), she was also covering for Ron. Apparently he had the stomach flu. She knew that in truth he was taking Gemma, his girlfriend, to the new movie (some romantic comedy), but she didn't mind covering for him. It was not like she had a boyfriend to go out with, to spend time with. Just Tobby and the Telly. Wonderful.

_Don't go in that direction!_

But too late she was already thinking about HIM. HIM, with his soft (as per daily observation) curls, sharp cheekbones, lovely cupid baby pink lips, that Greek like sculpted body and most of all his amazing intelligence. Sherlock Bloody Holmes.

It was totally his fault that she was single. When she had finally come to terms with the fact that Sherlock didn't do girlfriend (or boyfriend for that matter), she decided to go out on dates with other men. But it all ended quickly and sometimes very very quickly. Quickly when she realized that they would never match Sherlock in any way and very very quickly when Sherlock would deduce about the guy without even meeting him. Like she said, totally his fault.

She knew she was being silly, but it felt good to blame it on someone. But she was being unfair. After his fall (that's what the press was calling it) he was really making an effort to be nice towards her. He keeps his hurtful deductions to himself (apart from those of her choice of boyfriend), tried to make small talk (I know right) and most shockingly got her coffee once. She had just stood there, mouth agape like a fish until he cleared his throat and she meekly took her gave her one of those looks, the one reserved for a particularly difficult cases and ignored her for the rest of the day. He had even called on her to assist him in some of the cases. Maybe it was his way of saying thank you. She could see that they have moved on from a strictly professional relationship to a tentative friendship. But all this was not enough for her. Her initial crush, which changed into love was not fading and she knew that there was no hope of Sherlock ever returning her love, because he was wired that way. It was not his fault, it's just the way he is. It was painful to be in his presence, knowing that she could never have him.

She glanced at the clock, surely after so much self-ranting/pitying time should have flown by.

_Who am I kidding?_

Like so many other things in her life, even the clock seems to not co-operate. There was still 27 minutes left. Sigh.

_Might as well check my mail._

She booted up her MacBook. It was one of her most prized possession, a gift from her father on her graduation. She smiled fondly at the memories. As usual her inbox was bursting with messages, mostly advertisements. Deleting all the spam, she had only three mails actually. One from her friend Meena, telling her all about her trip to Hawaii. Sounded like she had an awesome time, which she always does in any situation. The other was from her university group, sending the yearly periodical consisting of the whereabouts of each one of her university friends. The third was from St George Research Hospital.

She had sent her research paper regarding genetic manipulation to them last week. It was Mike who had actually suggested sending it. He had said that it would look great on her profile if they published her paper. Hopefully they decided to publish it. Excitedly she opened the mail.

They were offering her a job. As a Research team leader in New York.

Molly was shocked. She had never planned on finding another job. Whenever she envisioned her future (which was not very often) it was she being a pathologist at Bart's in London and hopefully happily married. Or live in a house full of cats. Whatever. She had never considered a change of scenario. Of course the main reason was Sherlock. But now that she thought about it, she was beginning to like the idea. Away from the pain of unrequited love. A new beginning. A chance to be noticed,not blend in the background.

She was going to take up the job.


	2. Chapter 2

John was having a bad morning. No scratch that. John was having a bad 'middle-of-the night'. He had been brutally woken up from his sleep at bloody 1am, with the screeching of violin. Where were the ear plugs when he wanted it? Oh right! They were all bloody used up. He went down the stairs huffily and glared at the tall figure abusing the violin.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Playing the violin, John. It should be fairly obvious, even to you."

John took deep calming breathes and said, "It's 1 in the morning!"

"Is it? I didn't notice", Sherlock said with a shrug and continued to abuse the instrument.

John wished he could talk some sense into his best friend. But when the said best friend keeps behaving like a five year old there was no point.

For the past three months they had been on cases back to back. Even those which were barely five. Right when they finished up one, Sherlock would immediately pick another. They had been dashing about in London behind criminals almost on a daily basis. It was almost like Sherlock was deliberately avoiding something, by occupying himself with cases. John fancied to think that it had something to do with Molly but Sherlock wouldn't let him talk about it. This week there had been no cases (not even a three) and just like a typical five year, being denied his treat, Sherlock was throwing tantrums.

"When do you plan to stop 'playing'?"

"I don't know."

John wished he could just chuck something (maybe the skull) at him, but thought better. He had the morning shift and didn't want to waste precious minutes of sleep in pointless argument, which no matter what, the arrogant git would win. Git. He went downstairs to 221 A to borrow more ear plugs from Mrs. Hudson and ignored the consulting detective on his way back to try and catch up on his not-so-kindly interrupted sleep.

/-/-/-/

Sherlock continued to play his violin for a few more hours before placing it back in its case. He scoffed at it. Even it had a case.

He was restless and irritable without a case. Not even a three for God sake. What are the criminals doing? Taking a break? A nice little vacation in the countryside? He huffed and flopped himself unceremoniously on the sofa and went into his mind palace.

Sherlock was not someone you could describe as humble. He was never shy to show off his brilliance and his mind palace was something he was very proud of. And he was not taking it kindly, when one of the occupants refused to stay put in their room. Molly Hooper. She refused to stay in her room, which had grown immensely since the Moriarty problem. She just kept wandering into any room she wanted humming that annoying ( _endearing_ , his mind supplied.  _Shut up!)_  song which was clearly her favorite, wearing that lab coat of hers, with her hair let down. Or just kept following him. He didn't understand why his mind palace made sure she appeared in every corner.

_'_ _You do, you just won't acknowledge it!_ ' said his mind palace John.

Sherlock had to grudgingly accept this.

Yes, he knew. He had known about Molly's crush, right from the beginning. He had manipulated her feelings for him relentlessly for his gains. She didn't seem to mind. She had been just a useful asset. Giving him free reign in the lab and a good assistant. A mousy pathologist who made bad jokes. But when she confronted him before his fall, he was left speechless for a moment. For the first time he saw a different Molly. One who was very observant and determined to help him in any way she could. She had saved his life. Proved time and again that she could be trusted with anything.

During the two years when he was tearing Moriarty's web apart, she had been his sole connection to his old life. Being away had changed him in more ways than he would admit. He wanted to be with Molly. He missed her companionship, her kindness, and her ramblings. Those two lonely years made him acutely aware of this fact. So, he decided to pursue a relationship with her.

But this was not to happen. Right when he was in the process of settling to this idea, Molly decided to leave. Talk about fate. She didn't even say goodbye. She just left without telling anybody where she was going. Of course, it would have been a piece of cake for him to find out where but maybe it was for the best. Though it hurt him, he wanted her to be happy.

_Sigh_

That had been three months ago. He was trying to forget about her, like she had forgotten him. How difficult could it be? A lot. He had kept himself busy to stop thinking about HER. And now there were no cases. All solved. Damn.

/-/-/-/

When Mycroft Holmes told that he constantly worried about Sherlock, he was stating a fact. His little brother had a knack to attract a lot trouble. His 'experiments' (as Sherlock liked to call it) with drugs upset the whole family, especially Mummy. Though he went to a rehab and has been clean since then Mycroft knew that there was always a possibility for him to go back. These last few days seemed to be like that.

He knew all about his little brother's gold fish problem. Sherlock was playing the part of a noble knight. Well, that could be rectified with a little push. He decided that he may as well help him. With these thoughts he entered into 221 B, to find Sherlock pacing agitatedly.

"Hello brother dear." Mycroft said.

"Why are you here?" his Sherlock asked in a manner of greeting and plopped himself on the sofa.

"I'm here about a case."

Sherlock perked up at the thought of a case, but didn't show it.

"Did you hear about the assassination of the Chinese ambassador?"

"You want me to find the assassin."

"Yes. It's definitely a male and he is being particularly difficult to get hold of. The only clue we have now is his location."

"Where is he?"

"New York".


	3. Chapter 3

Molly loved New York. The city was full of life, filled people at all times heading towards their destinations always in a hurry. She was making her way towards her office, humming cheerfully and window shopping. That was something she realized she enjoyed. The shops had a wonderful way of displaying the items they had to offer. She especially loved the antique stores. There were myriads of stuff, each more interesting than the other. One of the stores had a skull on its display. It was of a female, probably from the 18th century. Looking at Molly couldn't help thinking about Sherlock.

Leaving London had been very difficult. After sending her acceptance letter, she had felt empty. Ever since Sherlock returned from the dead, she had been hoping that he would confess his love her, kiss her senseless and they would ride of together into the sunset. She kept hoping that they would be together someday. But going away meant that she was giving up on that hope, which was all she had. Who could blame her? She had waited for him for seven years. If saving his life wouldn't make him love her, then she didn't know what would. She cried herself to sleep that day, Toby her only solace, purring like a furnace and comforting her.

She didn't say goodbye to Sherlock before she left. She hadn't been sure, she could leave, if she looked into his blue intense gaze. She would begin to hope again. Be swept away by his imposing intelligence and his beautiful soul. Or worse he wouldn't care. She couldn't bare that and she had had enough.

Deep down she knew that despite moving away from him, she would never be able to move on. But she had to try. She owed herself that much.

Her university friend Tanya had arranged an apartment close to her work place. The flat was large and airy. Toby seemed to like it too. After unpacking and washing up, she had decided to go shopping. Now that she would no longer be working in a morgue, the warmth from the ill-fitting clothes wouldn't be necessary. She purchased her usual kind of clothes, bright colors with animal or bird pattern (the one with doves had been irresistible), but only two sizes less than what she usually wore. She bought matching jeans and skirts to go with them. She had always wanted to wear skirts, but the temperature in the morgue had forced her to not try them. But New York was supposed to be warm and she was going to take advantage.

Today she was wearing the deep violet top (with those adorable doves) with a knee length cream colored pencil skirt.

St George Hospital was a huge structure, almost twice the size of Bart's. Despite the fact that she would miss doing postmortems, her job was quite exciting. She didn't do overtime like she ALWAYS had back in London. It gave her a lot of spare time to follow lots of other hobbies. Also she was fascinated with genetic engineering and this hospital had state of art lab facilities. Sherlock would flip, she thought with a sigh.

She entered the building and greeted the receptionist, Christene, and made her way towards her lab. She was in early and no one was there yet. It suited her, just fine as it gave her some time to meet her new best friend Mary. Mary Morstan, was a straightforward woman, with generous amount of humor and kindness. She was a nurse in ER. Molly had first met her, when she sliced her finger accidently, while collecting samples. They had become fast friends. Mary was also single (though not chronically like Molly) so had a lot of free time, hence they met up a lot in and out of the hospital. Molly headed to the ER, where Mary was cleaning up after her night shift.

"Hey!" she called out to Mary.

"Hello! In early?"

"Yup! So, how was your shift?"

"Horrible!" Mary made a face. "How come people manage injure themselves, when they are supposed to be sleeping for god sake."

"Looks like you could use some sleep, then a drink." Molly said with a smirk.

"Yes! Sleeps sounds wonderful and also the drink. Let's go to the new disco in Broadway. It's been ages since we went out."

"But Mary, we hit the bar only three days back!"

"Yeah like I said, ages. Ok! I better go, before I become dead on my feet."

Molly laughed and hugged Mary goodbye. She went back to the lab, and began analyzing data for her research. It was going to be fun tonight. A total girly night out.

/-/-/-/

John was having a great time. He and Sherlock had landed in New York three days ago. They were staying at a five star hotel (courtesy Mycroft) and John was making the most of it. Though they were here to find the assassin, John was going to treat this trip as a vacation. He had already visited most of the tourist spots and famous restaurants. In his defense, there wasn't much to do actually. They had no idea who or where the assassin was and couldn't just go scouring the entire city (Sherlock thought it was brilliant idea, but John convinced him that it would be a complete waste of time. Phew!) So Sherlock had turned to the homeless of New York and within a day managed to build a homeless network (how does he do that, among a gazillion other things?) who were keeping an eye out on suspicious behavior.

So, while Sherlock was up in his room being lost in his mind palace or doing research on his laptop(he had no idea), John was down at the pool sunbathing (after flirting with the receptionist). He was definitely going to get a perfect tan. He smiled to himself and relaxed. Just when he was about to doze off, something blocked the sun from reaching him.

He opened his eyes to look at Sherlock towering over him with that creepy/happy smile.

"We've got a lead John!" he said excitedly.

John could feel Sherlock's contagious excitement catching up on him.

"Your network?" John asked.

"Yup" he said popping the 'p'. "Let's talk about this privacy."

They left the pool, and took the (massive) elevator to Sherlock's room.

John sat on one of the plush sofas, while Sherlock paced around and explained.

"One of the homeless around Broadway has reported suspicious behavior at a disco out there. It was opened only recently."

"Suspicious like?"

"That's the interesting part. There are no drugs or prostitution involved, according to my research. Yet, many local and international trouble makers have been seen entering the building through the back door. Also, the owner was previously an underdog, who seems to have hit the lottery around the time of the assassination of the ambassador."

"Well, it looks like we've got our man." John said sadly knowing that his little vacation was coming to an end.

"Yes, I am sure about it. This must have been his first attempt. Else Mycroft's men would have found a match with other professional assassins."

They discussed about the case for some time and made plans to visit their killer that night at his place of business. The same disco, where Molly and Mary were going to spend some girly time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was missing his suit and more importantly his coat already. Even though he considered the body to be nothing but the transport of the mind, there was no harm in making the body feel comfortable. And he had developed a certain liking (mind palace Mycroft rolled his eyes) towards his suits and his coat. He considered his coat to be his brother (a better one than Mycroft). Such was their time together.

Visiting the disco necessitated that he give up the comfort his usual clothing style and get dressed in clothes that he used to wear during his university days. Jeans, T-shirts and jackets. He never liked wearing them. They seemed to draw the attention of women (and sometimes men) and it was always tedious to shake them of his trail. Like he always maintained, he didn't do relationships. Mind palace Molly cleared her throat at that and he amended the thought. Except Molly.

One of Mycroft's minion delivered their attire: blue jean, deep purple T-shirt and a biker jacket for Sherlock and black jean, light blue printed T-shirt for John. When they met each other at corridor, they have a minor (more like major) giggling fit. Each one pointing at the other and laughing. It had taken them a good five minutes to gather themselves.

They were currently heading towards the disco in a cab and he was feeling exposed in his new clothes. Molly would have liked these, he thought. She used to spend most of the time staring at him while they worked together. He enjoyed her attention way too much than he would admit and had just pretended to not notice her. Mind palace Molly shook her head sadly at him.

He was brought out of his reverie, when he noticed the cab begin to slow and realized that they were at the disco. He scolded him for once again getting lost in the memories and thoughts about Molly. Focus.

It was a Saturday night, and the area was packed with people looking for entertainment. There was a long line of people waiting outside Casanova, their destination. He had to admit that the guy who built it had taste. The building was quite spacious, painted in soft colors. It was artfully decorated with neon lights, which gave it a look of a high class restaurant. Nobody, would ever suspect that this building was the becoming a commanding base for major criminal activities. Clever, but not good enough.

While Sherlock was busy analyzing the building and its surroundings, John was busy analyzing the women. There were at least a few hundred, all fashionably dressed. A particular woman, with short blond hair wearing a black dress that complimented her, caught his attention. She was talking animatedly to someone on her phone (hopefully not her boyfriend). He wanted to talk to her, but not in the present circumstances. He wanted to at least get her number. But before he could do anything, Sherlock spoke.

"The backdoor must be connected to the basements. That is where the assassin would meets his new clients."

Having said this, he began to casually make his way towards the back of the building. John gave one last look to the blond, before hurrying up to Sherlock. Later, he promised to himself.

There was a back door alright, but it was guarded by two massive and mean looking bouncers. John had never understood why the word bouncers for security, but now he could understand. These guys could easily lift troublemakers and bounce them away. There was no way they could beat these guys in a one-on-one combat.

Their task was simple. To gather evidence that the owner of Casanova was the assassin. Mycroft's men would do the rest. But it looked like it wasn't going to be easy. Thankfully Sherlock was prepared (when is he not?). He pulled out the tranquilized darts (which had been experimented on John, that git), loaded it into a gun and handed it to John. John aimed carefully and fired at the bouncers. They guys collapsed like bags of sand, before they even knew what hit them. Having incapacitated the 'security' they entered the back door.

/-/-/

Gathering evidence had been too easy and too boring. Bordering on pathetic. Those imbeciles were talking about their plans so loudly and openly. And Jonathan, the owner, was bragging about killing the ambassador. All Sherlock had to do was record their conversation. Dull. Even John looked a bit disappointed. Why had he taken this case? Oh yes, to get Mycroft off his back. Honestly, he wouldn't do drugs ever again. Good cases gave him a high that even cocaine couldn't give. Also Molly had been highly disappointed and hurt when she had learned that he had been addict earlier. But his brother dear, was being cautious. Right.

After recording enough they left the basement dejectedly.

"That was dull" Sherlock commented.

"Yes. One would think assassins to be smart and secretive."

"Not being that, is exactly why he got away. The government would never think of a local thug doing such a high profile murder."

They were now near the entrance the building. Sherlock was about to hail a cab when John stopped him and said, "What? Leave New York without partying?" and pointed to Casanova.

"Oh right! The blond." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Shut up" saying that John dragged him along into the disco.

/-/-/

Mary and Molly were having a great time. The disco was an awesome place. The interior was mostly black and cream marble. The lights weren't too dim nor too bright. And the bar and music,completely heavenly. They had arrived at around 9. Mary dressed in a short black dress, along with matching black heels. Molly was wearing a deep blue sundress with matching ballet flats (heels were so not her thing).

They had been dancing and drinking since then. Molly had prepared an intake chart, to make sure they didn't go overboard. But Mary chucked into the bin as soon as she saw it. Currently Molly was trying to stabilize the floors and the walls from spinning out of control, while Mary laughed at her. She frowned at Mary. She somehow managed to stay sober, even though they had about the same amount of alcohol.

The DJ started to play a latest hit number and the crowd went crazy.

"Oh my god! I totally love this song. Come on Molly" Mary screamed over cheer of the crowd. Molly wanted to go, but her bladder was about to burst. How much did she have to drink? Three, six or maybe eleven. She wasn't sure.

"You go! I'll be right back" she screamed back into Mary's ear and gestured towards the restrooms.

Mary gave her a thumbs-up sign and melted into the throbbing crowd.

Molly made her way carefully to the restroom. It seemed to be miles away and the spinning floors were not making it easy.

When she came back, she spotted Mary with a man who looked familiar. She shook her head and looked again. Hmmm he looks like John. John's look alike was saying something to Mary, to which Mary blushed and laughed.

Why would John be here?

God! Thinking was confusing her. She needed a drink to clear her head. Her logical part of brain was trying to tell something. Maybe it was telling her to take two drinks. Yes, that's right.

Smiling, she unsteadily reached the bar and ordered two drinks. At the other end someone was hunched over. She looked more closely and saw that it was a guy who looked like Sherlock, but dressed all wrong. Same black curls, same sharp cheekbones, same build but wearing Jeans and a leather jacket. Gorgeous. She wondered why she was seeing familiar faces. Maybe, the suppressed part of her heart which didn't want to leave London ( and Sherlock) was breaking free and making her hallucinate. Well at least it was creative.

Might as well enjoy it, she thought and wobbled unsteadily towards Sherlock's look alike/her hallucination.

He turned to look at her when he heard her approach him. His eyes widened when he saw her. He had the same piercing eyes like Sherlock. Her heart started to beat rapidly. "Molly" he exclaimed in surprise.

Up close Sherlock's look alike looked ever more young and handsome. He just kept staring at her. She was drinking in every detail of him. Her imagination had dressed in him her favorite purple shirt. She dragged her gaze back to his face. His cupid lips were screaming for attention and before she knew it, she was kissing her hallucination.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock smiled at the sleeping face of Molly. She looked so peaceful, the air of nervousness which seemed to hang around her every time they were together was absent.

The previous day, when John went out to talk to the blonde, a nurse, he had decided to have a drink. Now that the irritatingly simple case was over, Molly was in all his thoughts. Expecting someone to die mysteriously in the disco and provide him a case was too much to hope for (he secretly did). So, nursing the beer he sat in a corner to avoid all communications with the imbeciles around him and also to get away from 'interested' parties. Already he could see two women eyeing him, and he knew that they would make a move in ten minutes. If John wasn't finished by the time, he was going to leave without him. He glanced at John. Hmmm… the blonde was showing interest. Good. It meant John would get her number and they could get away from this place.

Until then he had to wait. Ugh.

He decided to go into Molly's room in his mind palace. Though it made his heart ache, it gave him some comfort to be in the familiar surroundings of the Bart's laboratory with Molly looking at him with those kind eyes. She was a compassionate person by nature and now that he thought about it she didn't judge anybody. When they were first introduced to each other and he deduced some *cough* embarrassing things about her, she didn't call him a freak and tell him to piss off. She just blushed and seemed to try to understand why he would tell such rude remarks to her. She must have talked to somebody about it and learned that it was the way he was, because the next day when he went to the lab she greeted him with a cheerful smile (unlike the previous pathologist who had barricaded the entrance to prevent him from entering.)

Damn. Somebody was approaching him. An inebriated female, from the unsteady light footsteps. Would they never leave him alone? He turned to tell her that he wasn't interested, but all words died down.

It was Molly. His Molly.

He was shocked. He had given up all hopes of ever seeing her and here she was. She was dressed in a deep blue sundress that showed off her petite figure and her shapely legs. Her hair was let down (his favorite on her), framing her face prettily. Had she always been this beautiful? Clearly. Her horrible clothing had kept it hidden. He processed all this within a fraction of time.

"Molly" was all could tell, because he was still drinking in all of her, trying to deduce all the happenings of her life and more importantly if there was a man in her life. He didn't want to ruin anything she had built for herself here. Molly seemed to be doing the same. Her gaze lingered a bit longer on his clothes confirming his assumption that she would like it. It made a part of his brain smug. Yet he couldn't seem to move. Sherlock was a man of action, but in the matters of emotions he was clueless. He didn't know what to do.

Molly solved his dilemma. She stepped forward and began to kiss him.

Sherlock would never admit to anyone, not even to himself about fantasizing about Molly. He had thought that he knew how it would feel, based on his research on internet, television and magazines (strictly for science he had convinced himself). But all that presumption was shattered when her lips met his. She smelled of gin and faintly of chemicals. The smell of home. The thoughts which usually raced around in mind, slowed down. It all came down to this woman in his arms, the woman who counted. The woman who mattered.

"Oh my god!"

He reluctantly broke the kiss to see John and his blond staring wide eyed at them. Sherlock gave them a very shy grin and looked down at Molly who was dozing, leaning against his chest.

"You dog! I knew you had a thing for her. Calling her 'your' pathologist and all." John said and gave him a good thumping on his back.

"Wait! You people know Molly?" the blond asked.

"Yes Mary. Molly worked with us and helped us in some cases. This is my friend Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh! So you are that idiot. Despite whatever you did Molly never shut up about you."

Despite hearing a stranger (John's date, whatever!) call him an idiot, he was vain enough to be delighted on hearing that Molly talked a lot about him.

"What happened to her?" Mary asked with concern.

"Passed out. She was never much of a drinker. I'll take her back to the hotel to rest. You people can stay here if you want."

They agreed with him, both happy for their friends and for each other. Sherlock had a feeling that he would be seeing a lot of Mary in the future.

He left Casanova, supporting Molly. He would have lifted her, but that would get them some attention and he knew Molly wouldn't want it. Never the one to look weak. He smiled and hailed a cab to get them to the hotel. It was already four in the morning.

He had tucked Molly into the bed and settled himself on the chair next to it, content to just keep looking at her.

/-/-/

Molly's head was throbbing. She was going to strangle Mary. There was a reason, she had prepared the intake chart and it was to prevent her from getting THE killer headache. She wanted to sleep a little more but she had work. God! She hated the hangovers.

She opened her eyes. Aaagh! The sun was streaming in, right into her eyes. It was too bright.

Wait what? The sun was streaming in? Her building was surrounded by buildings way taller than it, so there was no chance of the sun rays ever reaching her flat. She opened her eyes and looked around and immediately began to panic. This was not her flat! Looked like a hotel room, she didn't know this place.

Calm down, she told herself. She tried to remember the events of the previous night. She had been too drunk. She had proof for that. Her hangover. Then vaguely she remembered a guy, who she thought looked like Sherlock. And then… she had kissed him. And looked like he had brought back to his room.

"Oh! You are awake. Good, here take this tablet, it will help with the head ache" said a man, who entered the room. He placed the pills on the desk and looked at her expectantly. The man had the same voice, she would recognize anywhere in the world. Sherlock Holmes. So, it hadn't been a hallucination. It was him. She had kissed Sherlock Bloody Holmes, and she could remember all the details clearly now, and had passed out promptly. She was blushing furiously and was positive that her face would be resembling a tomato.

She sat quickly, against her will to just pull the cover over her head and pray that the floor would swallow her.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry about yesterday. I had a bit too much to drink and wasn't thinking straight. Please forgive me." She said all of this in a rush and got out the bed.

"You mean, you regret it?" he asked with a crest fallen face.

What was he asking? Of course kissing him was the best thing she had done (but damn, she couldn't remember any of it). She stopped her attempts to get away from him. She had run away a lot from him. But enough of that. She summoned up some courage and tried to speak without blushing.

"Sherlock I don't regret kissing you. But I regret putting you in that position. I know that you don't have any feelings towards me. Like I said I was drunk and I'm sorry."

Sherlock made a weird face while she was talking. He looked mad.

"You think that I don't have feelings for you" he said angrily. "Well you would have known that I have feelings for you, if you had stayed a bit longer."

Molly couldn't believe her ears. Sherlock had feelings for her. In what alternate universe did that happen?

"You have feelings for me?" she asked him uncertainly.

"I hate repeating. But I'll make an exception for you. I love you. I've always loved you, but since the feeling was alien it took me some time to finally understand." And then he blushed, adorably.

Molly's heart soared. Sherlock Holmes loved her. He had always been in love with. This was enough. Of course it would be difficult dating the only consulting detective. She didn't mind that, as long as she had his love.

"You certainly took your time. Seven years you idiot"

"Well then let's make up for all that time"

The consulting detective's lips met his pathologist's and all was well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :D


End file.
